He's yelling at possums

My brother is in town for a visit. Last night he went out drinking with some old school friends. Several hours later I received a phone call, to see if I was awake. Having answered the phone I did happen to be awake, and agreed to drive into the city to pick him up. This is because I am an excellent sibling. And because Zeb really loves nothing more than a midnight spin.

On the return trip my brother, with the logic of the inebriated, queried whether I really was awake and whether I had been before said phone call. After we arrived home I changed back into my pajamas and then realised that the front door had been left wide open. I chalked this up to forgetfulness, having previously lived with two guys who were incredibly lax about home security (we once had to have a house meeting listing reasons it was a top idea to at least close the front door).

When I went to lock up I discovered my brother standing in the front yard staring into the distance. I also heard some distant barking. When I asked what was going on he explained "I'm just waiting for Zeb. He's yelling at possums".

Downloads killed the video store

My mother occasionally laments that the real victims of the digital age are video stores. Apparently during my childhood, before we grew up and started illegally downloading films, the video store was pumping on a Saturday night.

This Saturday I decided to embrace my anti-social nature and spend a night in with Zeb the Wonderdog. Which we began with a trip to the video store. While there I saw:

• a mother with children
• an expectant couple
• one of the body builders from my gym
• a girl dressed in fairy wings and glitter with another girl in a sky-divers jumpsuit with glitter and a couple of other girls with less interesting outfit choices
• a couple of young guys
  

And I thought to myself - the video store is still totally popular with lots of different people. What on earth is my mother talking about? And then I thought about it some more and realised that the video store is really only popular with those who have one thing in common. Being responsible for young children, pregnant, unable to afford the carbs, or underage, all these people couldn't go out and paint the town. The fight against binge drinking is the fight for the video store.

Conversations at the cinema

1: At the counter

Me: Hi, could I please have two tickets to the movie?
Him: Sure. That'll be thirty bucks. You'll be two of four people in the theatre. And its the biggest theatre we have.

Me: Right, well that's... could I just put that on EFTPOS please?
Him: Wow, your card is so flat, you must use it a lot. I mean, not to be judgmental or anything.
Me: You did sound mildly judgmental there, but I'll try not to be offended.
Him: No, really, it's just I've never seen a card with the numbers so worn down. It's quite impressive. Although actually, I have seen a card like this once before. But it was a fake.
Me: It's the real deal, I swear.
Him: Oh no, I mean, I didn't mean to say that this was a fake card or anything. That's not what I meant. Its just unusual is all. That the numbers are so flat.
Me: Perhaps I should use it less? Or lose it more?
Him: Yeah, I mean no. It's fine. If you don't have cash on you what are you going to do?
Me: Yeah. I guess I'll try to make sure I have cash on me at all times in future. It'll save time if I ever get mugged.


2: With the usher

Him: How are you going this evening?
Me: Well, thanks.
Him: Really? Or is that just your standard response when anyone asks you how you're going?
Me: No, I'm doing pretty good this evening. But thanks for asking.
Him: Really? I mean, would you really start telling some random usher if you were having a bad day or something?
Me: I can't see why not. You seem genuinely interested. What's to lose? Why? Do you think that people aren't honest with you? Does everyone tell you they're doing ok?
Him: Well, actually I got cancer patient once, who wasn't having such a good time of things. That went on for quite awhile. Makes you start to wonder if you should ask people at all.
Me: Yeah. Well it's good to maintain an interest in people I guess. Anyway, we should get into this movie...
Him: It's a good choice of movie. Quite funny...
Me: (noticing the growing queue behind us): Thanks. You have a good night.
Him: I will certainly endeavour to do so. And you certainly will. It's really a great movie.


3: In the hall, then in the theatre

Me: I'm just going to duck into the loo, you want to get seats?
Her: Yeah, it's going to be tough to get good ones what with the cinema being so jam-packed.
About ten minutes later
Me: Ohmygod I couldn't find you any where.
Her: Wow, I thought you were having a difficult bowel movement or something. I was going to text you to check you hadn't died in there.
Me: I was going to call you but I forgot my phone. I've been into EVERY theatre looking for you.
Her: Why didn't you just come into the theatre that the movie we are going to see is on?
Me: You took both the tickets. I didn't know which theatre we were supposed to be in. They aren't marked biggest to smallest.
Her: But we're in the FIRST theatre. Why didn't you just start at one and work forward?
Me: Well, I saw these people going to the movie and I figured it might be the same one so I just followed them. But they went into this one that was already started. And it wasn't the movie we were seeing. Then I had to go into each one and check if you were in there or not. People think I'm a crazy person.
Her: Crazy, but at least not constipated.

Bumfluff - The fags you don’t Bogart.

“Man I wished I smoked…”

All throughout my university life I thought this. During our tutorial breaks I for longed it. Well, it was either smoking or drinking lattes and flat whites while my fellow classmates discussed how this latte wasn’t as good as the latte they’d had an hour ago “far too weak and frothy” they‘d say. Funny how these would be the same people who last night would happily lick stale beer off the pub floor, yet complain about the quality of the virginal coffee beans used to make their $3 cup of coffee. I hated this whole ‘wanky’ coffee culture we mooched off the Europeans, so I decided upon smoking as to me it was the lesser of the two evils. But I hesitated when it came to lighting up. I never smoked as a teen as I feared that it would stunt my growth and for rest of my life I would forever be a short little battler. I shouldn’t have worried though, I was already doomed to view the world at 5ft2. But now my fear was public humiliation. It’s socially acceptable and sometimes astonishing to see a 16yr old coughing and wheezing after taking their first drag of a cigarette, much like witnessing a child taking their first steps, but I doubt that’s the same case for a bitter lass in her mid 20’s.

With my original plans thwarted, I suddenly thought why not cigars? It’s not like you have to inhale them, their strong, like inhaling 20 cigarettes at the same time, you ‘bumfluff’ them! Therefore I wouldn’t have to worry about the coughing and choking and crude stares from passer-by’s. And I could wear my straw fedora hat while smoked them and feel like a South American drug baron. Oh just think! But alas I did not live in Cuba, in this land smoking cigars in lieu of thin seductive cigarettes was only limited to triumphant sportsmen and business tycoons. My forward thinking ways would be too much to handle, I would be ridiculed and shunned by society, the government and even by my fellow smokers.

Why are people so unkind?…

Knicker's in a not?

"There is a limit to the engineering possibilities and material potential that we humans can exploit. Please understand, there’s only so much control top underwear can do."

To my horror...I find myself repeating this little rant frequently on a daily basis to not so jolly, middle aged chubbers who are now finding many of their hopes and dreams being crushed between their ever expanding folds of fat. "Magic Minimizing Knickers", "Thunder Thigh Thinners" and "Bulge Busters", much like overconfident movie supervillain's they promise you the world but in the end only give you Kabul (and the dodgy end no doubt). Refusing to heed my advice, seduced by the dark side no less, these portly individuals decide to endeavour into the unknown. However, when these disgruntled lardo's realise the lack lustre results these synthetic fortresses provide, their already foul mood intensifies, their breathing spikes, they begin to communicate in a series of groans and grunts, begin sweating profusely, question my ethnicity and visa status, then struggle to free themselves from the control garments they are now imprisoned in. In these weaker moments I almost pity them.

Vindaloo is not for you...

“How come you don’t smell like curry food?”...

To my horror...one of my workmates asked me this question not so long ago, in reaction to a customer who was of Indian origins and smelled like Indian food. Even though I knew my workmate meant no ill intent, they did however frequently 'grind my gears' so I wasn't too averse to the idea of messing them about. So I took it upon myself to make them feel guilty and self conscious about their question. As they internally wrestled with the regret of their curiosity and quietly waiting for my response, I pondered...

Did all Indians smell like curry? Were we like vampires? Did we too have a unique scent characterized by what we ate? Maybe not as sweet (unless you factor in fruit based curries) or alluring as the walking un-dead (or so I hear, personally I thought vamps were meant to smell like death seeing as they are technically 'dead', but that's a whole other can of worms) but just as evident. Maybe. I on the other hand never smelt like curry or curry related paraphernalia, I knew this as I was frequently sniffed by others (my unholy fear of stinking fed this compulsion). I didn't eat curry, I preferred noodles or chocolate. That might explain the absence of 'marsala' from my scent and the reason why others of my kind instinctively avoided me. Had evolution given us this extra gift as a survival mechanism, to weed out the 'bad eggs' like myself?

Finally I answered my beleaguered workmate. I knew what I should say, what was normal, the guy probably worked in an Indian Restaurant and the smell was the result of his workplace environment. But why be normal?, instead I muttered "because I bathe in natural yoghurt, it dulls the smell of the spices that ooze from my pores like summer in Calcutta". In reply I only got a puzzled look from my workmate, did I expect anything more?